


Patience

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Dancing, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-15
Updated: 2009-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Gene likes to take things slow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

Sam let his hand skim the skin of water, warm ripples passing quick through his fingers and lifting a lilting liquid sound to his ears. He breathed it in, his slightly-parted mouth filling damp with steam, and exhaled a low groan of satisfaction as he leaned his head further back against the edge of the bath, body sinking deeper into the water.

The day had been long and difficult, but it was so easy to forget it all in the simplicity of the bath. Easy to forget the stress and the sweat and the long, dragging walk home; not so easy to forget that Gene had turned up at his flat not five minutes later, and still waited for him outside the fragile door.

With what was left of his sane mind narrowed in on the bath he had already set running, he’d had little patience for the unannounced visit and had stubbornly continued to unbutton his sweat-stained shirt, ignoring Gene’s unmoving presence, his intent stare.

‘Got anything to eat around here?’ Which was Gene-speak for _What you cooking for me tonight?_

‘Not your bloody personal chef, Guv.’ Sam had thrown his shirt aside. ‘And I won’t even think about making you so much as a cheese sandwich until I’ve had a bath.’

‘I can wait.’

Sam had leveled a cynical squint at Gene as his head emerged from his hastily shucked vest. ‘Really.’

‘I can scrub your back and all.’

And Sam hated to admit it, but he had blushed a little at that, at the unapologetic leer Gene had directed at his bare torso. Still… ‘I need to get clean. Not dirtier.’

‘Fine.’ Gene’s lips had tightened to an unreadable flat line, but his eyes had continued to roam freely over Sam’s body as he dropped back into the room’s sole armchair. ‘I can wait.’

‘Good.’ So Sam had gone into his bath, yes, and let the water take its time washing the sweat and stink of second-hand smoke away from his skin – slower than the power shower in his factory-conversion flat back in 2006, but the time taken for bathing was non-negotiable here and for once he didn’t mind this, the slower pace of life.

Meanwhile, Gene was no doubt growing impatient and the idea of him waiting outside, of that temper slowly rising like a storm, set off a tremor of arousal over Sam’s submerged flesh. Idly, he let his coasting hand sink beneath the water’s surface and drift along his inner thigh, sparking off nerve-memories of bites Gene had embedded in this secret stretch of skin. He traced the outer edge of a bruise lingering from their most recent night together, the purpling ring of a bite so very close to where his thigh creased into the curve of his arse. Pressing harder at the mark, Sam hissed softly at the faint echo of pain springing from his touch, his legs parting involuntarily with the pleasure of having been possessed in such a brutal, palpable way.

Growing thick and heavy with lust, Sam’s cock moved against the inside of his wrist as he reluctantly withdrew his hand from between his legs. He twitched at that slightest hint of stimulation, but refused himself any further touch save a calming caress up his stomach and chest as he sat up in his bath. Tempted though he was to find and explore every trace of Gene on his body whilst stroking himself to climax, the idea of saving that pleasure for Gene himself was far more attractive.

He rose from the bath with a quiet splash and reached for his towel, briskly drying the heavy rivulets of water rushing down his body. A quick scan of the tiny bathroom reminded Sam that he’d neglected to grab a change of clothes but the black jeans he’d discarded beneath the sink didn’t smell anywhere near as bad as his shirt and were both cleaner and dryer than his towel. He deftly tugged them up around his hips, slowing for a cautious adjustment of his half-hard cock beneath the fastened zip, and padded barefoot out of the loo.

Sure enough, Gene sat in the same chair where he had left him, but the other man had clearly moved in the meantime, had hung up his coat and fetched up a bottle and glass from Sam’s kitchen. The scotch sat on the floor beside an outstretched leg, the glass balanced nimbly between steady fingertips and accompanied by a lit cigarette. He also must have fiddled about with Sam’s radio, because what had been the tinny sound of the latest Roxy Music single had given over to something smooth and sultry that sounded like jazz, with a signal much more sharp and strong than any Sam had ever mustered from the antiquated piece of shit.

‘What’s this?’ Sam addressed his question to the radio with a brow-furrowing glower. Of course the damn thing would abide by Gene’s wishes rather than his own – he’d probably given it a good hard slap or something.

‘This, Sammy-boy, is music.’ Gene’s reply was soft and scornful and aimed at the ceiling, his head still knocked carelessly back in the chair. ‘Proper music of the sort _not_ wailed by long-haired trannies strutting about in their auntie’s lingerie, thank you very much.’

‘Bloody philistine.’ Which was weak as far as comebacks went, but Sam wasn’t inclined to argue when Gene’s choice of music was surprisingly good, far better than Roger Whittaker and rich with horns playing low beneath a gentle trickle of piano notes. He scrubbed a hand through his still-damp hair and tilted his head sideways to look properly at Gene.

His breath caught with a silent gasp of raw admiration. The rich red glow of evening setting in flooded through Sam’s shoddy curtains and filled the small room with a smoke-hazed wall of light that plucked out Gene’s shape in striking relief from the shadows. Pieces of light pulled Sam’s eye to the full extension of Gene’s neck above his loosened collar, a stray clump of blond hair covering his brow above eyes that retained some of their spark even in darkness. A heavy shoulder shrugged into radiance, and Sam watched his arm move with slow deliberation, balancing his whisky on the arm of the chair and bringing his cigarette to his lips for a long, ponderous drag that glowed a deeper red in the warm half-light. The exhalation of smoke that followed, accompanied by a low groan of satisfaction from Gene, prompted an equal reaction from Sam, unable to contain the soft sound of his pleasure in the sight before him. Whether a sigh or a moan, the noise drew Gene’s gaze with a downward tilt of his head, his green eyes returning Sam’s blatant stare before drifting further down.

‘Bloody hell.’ Gene muttered it so quietly Sam barely caught the words at all. He frowned, staring quizzically down at himself and back up at Gene as he took another pull off his fag.

‘C’mere.’ The request sent another waft of soft smoke into the air, not heavy enough to conceal the heated burn of Gene’s eyes.

Anxiously wetting his suddenly parched lips, Sam crossed the small room, something in the music and the smoke making him take this slow, one ponderous step at a time. As he drew closer, he realized with a flush of shame that he hoped wasn’t visible in the darkening room that he was practically swaying his hips, stalking towards Gene like some lap dancer prowling for her next trick.

He hesitated as his calf brushed against one of Gene’s impossibly long legs but it wasn’t anywhere near close enough; he searched Gene’s inscrutable expression in the smoldering light, then dared to step closer, using his knee to nudge Gene’s thighs wider apart. A rumbling hum of approval answered the move; a hand rounded the outside of his thigh and tugged him closer still until he stood tight between Gene’s legs, shins braced to the edge of the chair.

‘Look at you,’ Gene rasped, once more in that private hush that should, perhaps, have gone unheard, as much as Sam himself felt compelled to echo it right back. Instead, he reached out and threaded his fingers through the forward-flopping fringe of Gene’s hair, pushing it back from where it obscured his view of Gene’s transfixed face, his parted lips and dark eyelashes.

Gene answered the touch in kind, discarding his cigarette in the dregs of his whisky before resting both hands on the backs of Sam’s thighs, skimming up and down the form-fitting denim of his trousers from knee to hips. Sam tensed and relaxed into the heavy-handed caress, anticipating a predictable firm grope at his arse but Gene’s hands skimmed lightly over his rear before circling his waist, thumbs tracing the skin just above his waistband.

‘You’re a bloody tease, Tyler. Comin’ out here like this…’ His long fingers fondled the button of his jeans, tugging and fingering the small bit of metal before slipping it free of its hole with a deft flick of his thumb. Biting his lip to hold back a faint whimper, Sam tilted his hips into Gene’s hand, offering the rest of himself, offering _anything_ , but Gene stilled him with a palm pressed flat just above the hardening bulge straining at his trousers, fingers digging into his abdomen to hold him at bay.

‘I waited, Sam,’ Gene murmured, his breath damp and hot against his stomach, making Sam shudder with need. ‘I waited for your prissy bath, so now it’s your turn to wait. And I intend to take my time.’

With that promise, Gene held him steady by his hips and laid a trail of open-mouthed kisses up the length of Sam’s torso, tonguing a determined path to the hollow between his collarbones. Sam arched willingly, eyes drifting closed, wondering how Gene could reach so far from his seated position but Gene must have stood up at some point because Sam was being walked backward now. They drifted away from the chair one tiny step at a time, Sam hoping that their slow journey was aiming towards the bed.

‘Why don’t you…’ Sam reached for the knot of Gene’s tie and gave it a teasing tug, hoping that his attempt at a flirting grin would ease things along. With an answering smirk of his own, Gene took over with his own fingers, carefully unraveling the knot before tugging the full length of paisley-printed polyester from beneath his collar. Encouraged, Sam dove at his shirt buttons only to have his hands batted away.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Gene said sternly. ‘That’s all the striptease you’re getting for now.’ He drew the full length of the tie around the back of Sam’s neck, letting it settle over his shoulders and hang loose down his chest like a trophy. ‘Just don’t lose it yet.’

Sam glanced down at the stray ends of the tie brushing his bare stomach. ‘Um… why?’

With his eyes averted, Sam missed the dip of Gene’s head, and shuddered at the unexpected scrape of stubble and tongue at the corner of his jaw. ‘Might need it later,’ he growled softly into Sam’s ear. One of his calloused hands found and encircled Sam’s left wrist, the suggestion plain enough to set Sam throbbing in his too-tight trousers.

’Think you’ll need to tie me up?’ he whispered, fighting to keep his voice steady. ‘Why’s that? You afraid of what I might do to you, Gene?’

‘What, me afraid of some pretty, doe-eyed boy who thinks himself too clever for his own good?’ Gene took his right hand as well, lacing their fingers together palm to palm. ‘Damn right I am,’ he said solemnly. ‘You scare the living shit out of me sometimes, Sam, the way I get worked up around you…’

Dumbstruck by Gene’s words, Sam mutely allowed his left hand to be guided to Gene’s shoulder, his right joined with Gene’s left lifting to rest in the narrow space between their bodies, Gene cradling the back of Sam’s hand against his chest. Gene’s other hand took hold of his waist and Sam blinked in disbelief to realize that they were _dancing_ , bodies turning in time to the slow tune now being drawn out by a deep-voiced saxophone on the radio. It was strange, felt downright old-fashioned, something he’d scarcely done since the day his mum had taught him, right after he’d asked Polly Stapleton to the sixth form Christmas dance and they’d cleared all the furniture from their tiny sitting room and put on the record and…

‘Bloody hell,’ Sam groaned, realizing what else about this felt off. ‘I’m the sodding girl here, aren’t I?’

‘And a right good-looking one at that, Gladys.’ Gene tilted his head back to appraise him with strangely fond eyes. ‘Let it never be said I don’t know how to treat a lady right.’

Sam snorted, glaring up at Gene. ‘I’m _not_ a lady.’

‘I know that and all.’ Gene smirked as he glanced downward, and Sam felt the hand on his waist slip beneath the waistband of his trousers. A deep purr vibrated through Gene’s chest as he pushed further down to grope his bare arse and Sam smirked wryly into Gene’s shoulder; it was only a matter of time, after all. ‘And you’re nowhere near a gentleman, either, running about with no pants on,’ he muttered, sinfully dark into Sam’s ear. ‘Which is why as soon as this song’s over I’m gonna have you on your back with your trousers ‘round those pretty ankles before you can so much as blush or beg me to go gentle on your lovely self.’

The smirk dropped clean off Sam’s lips, now slack with lust. ‘Gene…’ His whole body went taut in Gene’s arms, skin drinking deep of all the heat he could feel rolling off the other man in crashing waves.

‘Shh…’ A kiss landed, barely there, in the hair at his temple. ‘Easy does it, love.’ _Love_ , and Sam sucked in a breath, so startled that Gene smoothly took over again, swaying them together through the low, smoky tones of the song.

‘Gonna have you, alright,’ Gene promised in a thick whisper. ‘But not until the song’s over.’


End file.
